Far Underground
by Auzzies
Summary: Not only is Bilbo left at the mercy of the goblins, but also that of the dwarves. And possibly an infection.


**Note: Fairly unpolished. This tale takes inspiration from pages 64-66 of The Hobbit, yet is still set in An Unexpected Journey.**

* * *

Bilbo would have kept up with the company had it not been for his leg. It had him staggering to keep pace, but the cut was too fresh, and possibly too deep. Sluggishly, the blood oozed, drying tacky around the edges. If he hadn't felt so filthy already, what with the dirt and scrapes that accumulated during their encounter with the Stone Giants, this would certainly have bothered him more. As it was, he shut out niggling thoughts of infection, and hobbled after the dwarves.

When Gandalf revealed himself and commanded Bilbo be carried, Bilbo found it difficult to be too ruffled; he didn't like the thought of being tortured by goblins any more than the rest of them. Pride and discomfort was laid aside, and he clung onto Bombur's back, sticking there until Bombur passed him off to Dori so he could fend off the goblins.

"Mister Gandalf! Mister Gandalf!" Dori shouted, holding Bilbo's good leg with one hand, and waving wildly with the other.

He couldn't for the life of him figure out what was so urgent that Dori couldn't wait until there were no longer any goblins nipping at their heels, and he never would learn, for, fluidly as water, Bofur pulled Bilbo from Dori's back swung him onto his own.

"I'll take that, Dori!" Bofur said.

"Excuse me, I'm not a 'that'!" cried Bilbo, and somehow Bofur found it in himself to laugh.

"Not at all. What happened to your leg?"

"Happened? I cut it on a rock in the fall," Bilbo said. Bofur jumped over a goblin, knocking its head with his boot. Bilbo thumped around on his back in the landing, wheezing.

"And the rest of you?" asked Bofur. "No splintered bones? No missing teeth?"

"No, no. I'm—I'll be alright."

He couldn't be sure because of the running, but Bilbo thought he heard Bofur give a quiet utterance of thanks, and it was not directed at Bilbo.

They soon came to a sharp curve in the path, slowing to accommodate the danger. On either side of the path was a steep cliff that sloped down, down, down into the lonely darkness. Bilbo tried not to look, fearing it would swallow them up if he did. He trusted Bofur – Bofur teased right from the start of the journey, but Bilbo hastened to learn that all of it was handed out with affection and levity, and never did Bofur say anything with the idea in mind to harm. Even before Bilbo realized this Bofur had become his ally among the alienating company, and once he did their bond strengthened for it, rapidly, too. Bofur was his friend – Bilbo trusted him with his fate. But even still, if they did not take care everyone could take a tumble, and then it didn't matter who was trustworthy, it was out of their control.

They crossed the thin path on steady feet, Bofur keeping a tight hold around the hobbit's knees, and Bilbo watching the heads of their company bob as they jogged. As they came to the end of the path Gandalf cried out and the dwarves halted, knocking into one after the other. What was said, Bilbo would never learn, for Bofur was jolted, and stumbled too close to the edge. They teetered and shouted, and Bilbo would later remember it like a moment suspended in time, but before they tipped too far, Oin, the dwarf ahead, snatched Bofur's scarf and overcoat. But Bilbo was beyond saving; he slipped from Bofur's grip into the depths, cracked his head on the stone wall, and remembered no more.

* * *

Deeper still, in the labyrinthine chasms of Goblin-Town, Bilbo popped open his eyes. He was sluggish about sitting up, and prodding the bump on his temple, and even about guessing where it came from. But once his mind wound back into place, he looked around him with new eyes, though not much could be seen. He sat in a patch of bulbous mushrooms, with solid rock brushing his left shoulder and darkness lurking in every other direction. He squinted upward, searching for anyone above, but heard and saw nothing. Only faded streaks of light filtered down so far.

As he stood, Bilbo brushed aside what at first he took to be a mushroom, but turned out to be a hat. Bofur's hat. He swept it up and cast his eyes around again. Did Bofur fall with him? Bilbo held his breath, listening for any trace noises, but he only heard the obtunded ring of silence. If Bofur ever was down here, he was far off now. And he doubted Bofur would leave him behind.

It was miraculous that his leg wasn't much worse from the fall, but it certainly wasn't any better. He leaned against the stone to steady himself, though his thoughts were treacherous and he was forced to imagine the creatures that could creep through the cracks and touch his hand, slither beneath, or pierce it. He shuddered, but didn't move away.

A glint in the pale light drew Bilbo's eyes to the ground. A gold ring lay nearby. Perhaps Bofur lost that in the fall as well, Bilbo thought, and dropped it in his vest pocket.

Deciding that he could no longer risk anything finding him, Bilbo placed Bofur's hat on his head and shuffled on.

* * *

As he neared his company, incipient voices carried back to Bilbo. Someone was arguing about returning to the caves, which Bilbo would like very much not to do.

"—not up for debate," said Gandalf, who had the loudest voice. Bilbo was fast approaching, and he soon heard the others with more clarity.

"Do you expect me to risk the lives of my company to find him?" Bilbo recognized that to be Thorin. "I warned you I would not be responsible for him. I will not allow you to hold these dwarves to any other expectation."

Bilbo stopped. Never before or since did he feel quite so expendable and alone in the group of fourteen. At that moment he would have liked nothing more than to be home, no wisps of thought spared for The Company of Thorin Oakenshield, if only so he wouldn't have to feel the helplessness Thorin was so adept at carving into him. Of course he would not want them to return to the goblins' trap, but to be spoken of as a tag-along, with no one to care—

But that wasn't right. That wasn't right at all. Balin, and Fili, and Kili, and most of all—

"I will be," Bofur said in a tone more serious than Bilbo ever heard from him. "Bilbo was in my care. If you and the lads want to go on, I will not stop you, but I need to ensure he's found."

The other dwarves raised their voices, but Bilbo listened to none of it as he slid the ring from his finger and began his shaky trek down the hill to the dwarves.

"I found him," Bilbo called, drawing their attention.

Several dwarves exclaimed, and Bofur closed the distance between and looped Bilbo's arm around his neck.

Bofur said, "Well, that's some trouble saved," and grinned. He looked wound tight before Bilbo stepped out of the trees, but Bofur was already loose again. They moved together at a snail's pace – Bilbo was finally feeling the gash in his knee.

"Thank you," Bilbo said quietly, catching Bofur's eye. "For carrying me."

For a moment, Bofur had a nameless look in his eye, but it was gone quick as wind. "Oh, you rescued my hat! Can't say I noticed it was missing 'til now."

Bilbo had quite forgotten about that. He reached up and brushed the wool at the brim. "O-oh. Yes, of course. Excuse me." Bilbo pulled it off and held it out to the dwarf.

Bofur stared at the hat, that nameless look back and spreading to his face. Instead of taking the hat back, he tugged the hobbit into a snug and gentle hug. "I feared we'd lost ya."

Bilbo nearly clung. His energy was seeping away, and all he wanted now was to curl up on his bedroll and drift off to Bofur's singing.

But from downhill Fili asked, "How on earth did you get past the goblins?"


End file.
